


Keeping Secrets

by Exdraghunt



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mech Preg, secret sparkling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26419321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exdraghunt/pseuds/Exdraghunt
Summary: Jazz suspects that Prowl of Praxus is hiding something. He doesn't know how right he is.Meanwhile, Prowl is struggling alone, caught between his duty to the Autobots and his sparkling. If only there was someone willing to help, if only Prowl was willing to let someone in.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 18
Kudos: 185





	Keeping Secrets

Prowl of Praxus was an enigma. He had no friends or hobbies and did nothing for leisure. He appeared in the Mess only long enough to retrieve his ration for the day before spending the day working before returning to his quarters; no socializing required. Jazz couldn’t help but be intrigued. Was the mech really _that_ boring, or did he have something to hide? It was unfortunate that no one knew what Prowl had been like before he joined the Autobots, but Praxus had been wiped off the map recently by the Decepticons and very few residents of the city had survived.

Records showed that Prowl had been Cold-Constructed as an Enforcer, and had served his function without complaint until he had suddenly bought out his own commission and left Praxus for Iacon. Only a few decacycles later, the city had fallen. Had Prowl known something, or been involved, and that’s why he’d gotten outta there so fast? Records also showed that Prowl had a processor glitch, which caused him to crash from unexpected or overwhelming stimulus, though Jazz had not seen it himself. Glitches were strongly stigmatized, especially in insular, homogenous states like Praxus. Maybe the mech was just seeking a more accepting environment.

Turning his famous charm up to maximum, Jazz worked on getting closer to the Praxian. It had to be taken slow, but Jazz had the patience for lengthy missions. Offering a cube of energon here, a casual conversation there. Prowl was in the tactical department, still junior but rising fast with his abilities, while Jazz was First Officer to the head of Special Operations, so he could always take the excuse of talking tactics and missions. Prowl seemed to enjoy discussing tactics, it was the only time his normally closed off body language and cold optics became even somewhat animated. Jazz even managed to coax him into playing some tactically-based board games, and though he got his aft handed to him every time, he still enjoyed himself.

After nearly a stellar cycle of this, Jazz decided that either Prowl was the world’s best actor, or the world’s most boring mech. There was no sign he was anything but what he was, a goal-driven, logically-minded mech who cared only for his job and the Autobot Cause. Well, okay, that wasn’t quite true. Underneath all that, Prowl had quietly admitted that he did miss Praxus, despite having left of his own volition (frustratingly, Jazz still hadn’t figured out _why_ the mech had left), and that he kept a small crystal garden in his quarters in memory of his destroyed home.

Jazz also slowly realized that the mech was exhausted. Though his near-total lack of body language and expression hid it well, Jazz could still see a bit of grey pallor to the edges of his optics and in his thin protoform. Sitting down at Prowl’s desk with an extra energon cube, Jazz decided he’d move from the role of spy to actual friend. It seemed like the mech could use one.

Prowl lay tiredly in his berth, staring up at the ceiling and wishing desperately that he could just fall into recharge. He’d been taking on more and more duties in the Tactical Department, and was currently in line for a promotion, so he needed all the rest he could get.

The reason he was still awake in the middle of his off-shift lay right next to his spark, merrily kicking away at his internals. His sparkling had been getting more and more active lately, a sign that the little one was nearing the end of its gestation.

Of course, the end of gestation would bring a whole new set of issues. Then, Prowl would have a whole sparkling to try and keep secret. Hopefully not for too long, though. He could drop off his sparkling anonymously at the main Iacon hospital, and some loving family could adopt the mechling. His creation would be able to grow up without the stigma of a glitched creator. Prowl just had to keep working, keep winning battles, and, most importantly, keep himself from glitching.

His Glitch was the reason behind all this. Why he had to hide. The laws were clear, mechs with severe processor glitches were not allowed to create, much less raise sparklings. And Prowl’s glitch had been classified as “severe” not long after he had come off the assembly line, onlined his optics for the first time, and promptly crashed from the sudden rush of input. His powerful tactical computer was the only thing that had kept him in the Enforcers and out of the Institution.

Prowl had never intended to create, but there were times when accidents happened. Even the best of baffles had a small failure rate, and it was just Prowl’s luck that he had been a part of that minority percentage. The sire had been another Enforcer, someone who had propositioned Prowl in the name of fostering better force unity. In reality, he had wanted to use Prowl for his powerful processor and attractive, new frame. Prowl had let himself be used in return, his Enforcer core coding craving some form of close, social contact with the others of his unit.

Upon discovering that he was sparked, Prowl had immediately used his saved credits to purchase his commission from the City of Praxus and left for Iacon. There, no one knew him and he could be anonymous. The Praxian Enforcers would force him to terminate, and though Prowl knew he would not be able to raise his creation, he couldn’t bear to think of ending the new life as it was just beginning.

The Praxian couldn’t sit back and ignore the growing civil war, however, and when the Decepticons wiped out his home city, Prowl went up to the Autobots and joined. With his experience and his tactical systems, he could be of great use to the army. He had to disclose his glitch upon joining, of course, the information was in his permanent medical records. Prowl said nothing of his _other_ medical condition, though. The risk of letting anyone else know was too great. Iacon was not Praxus, but that didn’t mean that there was any less stigma against Glitches.

Giving up on recharge for now, Prowl slowly climbed off the berth and decided to head outside the barracks for a drive. As a pursuit vehicle, it did his frame good to get out and be run at high speeds. Of course, he wouldn’t push himself too hard now, not with the sparkling drawing on his systems, but driving still seemed to be the easiest way to soothe the active little thing back to recharge.

Pushing himself to his pedes, Prowl gently rubbed the armor over his chest. Safe and secure under the heavy plating, the sparkling continued to squirm and kick, the vibrations carrying easily up through the layers of armor.

“Alright, you win.” Prowl whispered softly, a hint of a smile at his lips. “I am going outside.”

As soon as the door to his habsuite opened, Prowl’s hand dropped to his side and his usual stoic expression was back in place. His softer side stayed strictly inside his quarters, only for his sparkling.

Prowl had nearly made it to the exit of the barracks without encountering anyone when a voice called out to him from down the hall.

“Hey, Prowler!”

“Hello, Jazz.” Prowl greeted with a nod, continuing on his way as the other mech trotted up to walk alongside him. While he had intended to go out alone, Jazz’s company was not entirely unwelcome. The saboteur was the only mech who willingly spent time around Prowl outside work, seemed to even enjoy it. While Prowl was sometimes irritated by Jazz trying to prod him to relax, take time off, and join the parties the mech often threw, deep down he had to admit he appreciated the other mech’s presence. Enforcers were meant to function as part of units, not in isolation as Prowl often found himself.

“A little late t’ be out for a walk.” Jazz commented as he slowed to match the Praxian’s pace. “Ain’t it recharge time for ya?”

“I find my processor is too busy this evening to let me rest.” Prowl gave the excuse he often did when Jazz needled him to get more recharge. “I thought I might go out for a drive to see if it will settle down.” Almost as if in defiance of this statement, the sparkling gave a particularly hard kick inside him. Prowl kept his expression blank only through long vorns of practice, though his hand gave a brief twitch.

“Mind if I join ya’? Been a little while since I’ve stretched my wheels.”

“If you wish. Although, shouldn’t you also be recharging?” Prowl was relatively sure that Jazz was on the same shift schedule he was.

“You ain’t the only one with a busy processor this evenin.”

The two emerged outside into the base’s recreation area, dark and empty during the night-cycle. A winding driving course circled the rec field, which Jazz leapt onto with a whoop. He transformed in motion and raced off down the track, Prowl not far behind. The sight of taillights off in front of him triggered Prowl’s core pursuit coding, making him feel the strong urge to chase and capture the vehicle evading him. Vorns spent in a tactical office directing distant operations couldn’t remove his need to hunt completely.

Prowl’s powerful engine roared as he set out in pursuit of Jazz, lights flashing on in automatic response. Fortunately for his dignity, Prowl managed to keep his siren from wailing. He wasn’t actually chasing a criminal, after all, just a fellow Autobot. A friend.

Jazz was the more nimble of the two, and a variety of aftermarket mods had made him much faster than his stock frame would suggest, but nothing could match an Enforcer for endurance. Prowl could not push himself to his fastest speeds with the sparkling drawing on his energy, it would be too dangerous to himself and the little one, but his systems were built for the chase. He was still able to keep pace with Jazz, a few body lengths behind, as the two raced around the track. Until the saboteur began to slow, having exhausted his engine in his initial sprint, and Prowl started to gain ground.

Surging forward, Prowl gave Jazz a tap on the bumper. The saboteur swerved briefly before recovering, doing his best to try and keep ahead, but it wasn’t long before Prowl caught him with a tap once again. Skidding across the finish line, Jazz transformed with a laugh and held his hands up. “Alright, officer, ya caught me.”

That brought a faint smirk to Prowl’s lips as he transformed as well, vents roaring as he tried to cool his systems. “You did well. I have not had a chase like that since my early days on the streets of Praxus.”

“Good to know I can hold my own wit’ the delinquents of Cybertron.” A fact Jazz knew well, he had once been one of said criminal delinquents. “So how’s that busy processor now?”

Prowl paused a moment, letting his spark slow back to its normal resting pulse. Alongside it, his sparkling was calm and still, shifting slightly in its version of recharge. Abruptly, a wave of tiredness swept through him. “Silent. I think I will be able to return to my berth now.” He took a step back towards the barracks and stumbled slightly as his equilibrium circuits reset. A common occurrence for carrying mecha, a result of increased weight and the drain of gestation systems on the spark, but still embarrassing. Especially when his condition is a secret to everyone.

“Whoa, there, mech.” Jazz placed a hand on his shoulder, helping steady the wobbly Praxian. “I guess you must be tired. Come on, let’s get ya back to your hab.”

“I am fine.” Prowl replied automatically, flaring his sensor wings as he regained his balance. “But yes, a little tired.”

Jazz stayed by his side until they reached the wing of the barracks where Prowl’s hab suite was located. Prowl keyed the door open and turned to regard Jazz with dim optics. “Good night, Jazz.”

“G’night, Prowler. ‘Charge well.”

As the door slid shut, Prowl closed his optics and vented deeply to try and dispel the sudden feeling of _loss_ stabbing his spark. It was just the silly carrier coding. Carriers were meant to have the company of not just a sire, but also supportive friends and kin. In absence of either, Prowl’s core coding had latched onto the one mech that was friendly to him. He couldn’t let it. He would be fine by himself, would have to be. Laying down on his berth, Prowl placed both hands over his spark and the little one within before slipping into recharge.

In cheesy holovids, a carrying mech always went into emergence at the least convenient time. Unfortunately, there was apparently some truth to that dramatic trope, because Prowl felt the first pangs of emergence in the middle of a battle.

He was, thank fortune, not on the battlefield himself. Instead, Prowl was in the tactical hub of the Autobot base, using his powerful tactical processor and battle computer to monitor dozens of feeds at once; running constant real-time battle simulations and handing out orders right and left to the mechs in the battalion under his command. Immersed in the data as he was, it took Prowl some time to even feel his internals shifting around to bring his gestation chamber forward. The rhythmic push and clench of components in his chest being shunted into new, unfamiliar configurations was accompanied by a painful pinching in his spark as the sparkling pulled away from the life force it had orbited for so many quartexes now and settled fully into its body.

Prowl was able to spare enough processor power to refuse the commands he was receiving to unlock and open his chest plating. The sparkling would just have to stay inside him a little longer. If the Autobots did not win this battle, did not go on to win the war, then there wouldn’t be a world for the sparkling to emerge into.

Running his TacNet at full strength allowed Prowl to keep his voice steady and without emotion, even as mecha on both sides of the battle were slaughtered and his frame continued in its attempts to expel the sparkling it had spent so long building. His sparkling could not be allowed to come out here and now, in the middle of the tactical hub surrounded by mechs, with so many more resting their very lives on the orders he was giving through their comms.

Finally, after what seemed like joors, the Decepticons began to retreat. Prowl was consciously refusing commands to open his chest plating every few clicks now, and it was taking a good portion of his processor power to keep the locks engaged. His entire chest was a white-hot ball of pain, and the sparkling was beginning to feel distressed. Gratefully, Prowl pulled away from the data stream and requested permission from his superior to return to his quarters.

“Of course, Prowl. You did good work today. You are on break until the teams return for debriefing, I will comm you then.”

“Thank you, sir.” Prowl immediately left the tactical hub, heading back to his quarters as quickly as he could without running. Fortunately, his anti-social personality was well known, so no one attempted to stop him in the halls to speak.

The door to his quarters had barely closed and locked behind him when Prowl collapsed to his knees, his strength failing him once there were no other mechanisms around to see his weakness. Almost immediately, his chest plating folded aside and gestational fluid poured out to run down his stomach plating and drip onto the floor. Prowl hunched forward onto his elbows and knees and pressed his chevron against the cool floor of his quarters, groaning as every part of his body _squeezed_ and forced the mass of his sparkling closer to the outside world.

Everything around him ceased to exist as Prowl was caught up in the exertions of his body struggling to expel his sparkling. His tacnet was of no use here so it had cycled down, leaving him lost in the emotional surges of his spark. Raising one shaking hand, Prowl felt inside his open chest until his fingers encountered a smooth, round surface. The helm of his sparkling.

Another agonizing flex and clench of his components, and finally, his sparkling slid out into his hand. Umbilical cables broke away, dripping a meagre amount of energon onto the floor before sealing themselves. Prowl paid them no mind as he slowly pushed himself up to sit back on his heels, optics fixed on his sparkling. The little one’s face was scrunched up unhappily, voicing his displeasure at how long emergence had taken with thin little whines.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Prowl did his best to sooth his sparkling, pulling a soft cloth from his subspace to wipe the fluid from the still malleable silvery plating. Tentatively, Prowl let his EM field flare out to mingle with the sparkling’s. He had never had a reliably responsive field, a side effect of both his glitch and his tactical computer, but his creation still quieted at its touch. His carrier’s field was the only thing familiar in a brand new, scary world.

Cradling the newborn to his chest, Prowl laboriously got to his pedes and staggered over to his berth. Exhausted from all the excitement, the sparkling latched onto his carrier’s chest plating and cycled down into recharge. Prowl’s systems agreed that that sounded like a grand idea, and he was out almost before his helm hit his pillow.

According to Prowl’s chronometer, several joors had passed when he was abruptly awoken. He onlined his optics with some confusion, wondering what had woken him, when he noticed a soft whining sound and a tiny hand patting his bumper. The next thing that registered was just how _sore_ his frame was. Prowl groaned as he shifted to sit up, feeling as though he’d been run over by convoy. Right, he’d gone into emergence and had his sparkling before passing out in berth.

Said sparkling was still rapping a tiny servo on his chest, whines growing louder. In response, Prowl felt an uncomfortable pressure building under his chest armor, and a thin stream of glowing energon trickled out from his transformation seams.

“You must be hungry.” Prowl said gently, finding the commands to fold away the bits of armor that protected the auxiliary fueling lines below his spark. They only activated after emergence, producing a special mixture of energy and mineral rich fuel just for sparklings.

The newborn found the revealed line and immediately latched on, suckling eagerly at the fresh energon. Prowl sighed as the pressure in his fuel lines was relieved, spark flooding with love as he watched his sparkling feed. It hit him suddenly that he would not be able to give up his creation. Even the thought of taking this precious, little mechling who had been growing next to his spark for the last vorn sent a chill through the Praxian.

“I suppose you need a designation.” Prowl stroked his thumb over the sparkling’s soft, warm cheek. He had contemplated many while carrying, but had never settled on one. Had been trying not to get attached, for all the good that had done.

Now, though, with his sparkling alive and in his arms, Prowl knew he had to chose _something_. “What do you think of Chase?”

Predictably, there was no response from the sparkling. He simply continued to suckle, field flaring with the simple pleasure of his meal.

“Chase it is, then.” Prowl decided, stroking a thumb down his creation’s back. Tiny little armor panels that would one day grow into proper Praxian sensor wings fluttered in excitement. A pair of large, amber optics blinked up at Prowl, so new they were still static-y and white at the edges. It would be a few decacycles yet before the lenses developed enough to discern more than simple light and dark. All Chase knew for now was his carrier’s warm frame and the teek of his spark.

It didn’t take long for little Chase’s fuel tank to fill and for the tiny sparkling to fall back into recharge. At less than a day old, he didn’t have the energy to do much more. Prowl could’ve spent all cycle simply sitting and watching his sparkling recharge, but his duty to the Autobots couldn’t wait. Especially not now. If he worked diligently, perhaps he could catch the attention of the Prime himself. If Prowl could prove that he was competent, and capable, perhaps the Prime would allow him to keep Chase.

A ping on his comms proceeded instructions from his superior to report for the battle debriefing. With a heavy spark, Prowl made a little nest under his berth of blankets and pillows before settling Chase into it. He would be kept warm and safe there until his creator could return. As a final touch, Prowl produced a small object from his subspace. A plush figure in the rough shape of a Praxian Enforcer in alt, an impulse buy he had made not long after he had discovered he was sparked. Sentimental, perhaps, but with Praxus gone, Prowl was now glad that he’d bought it. He tucked it in next to his creation, who was near the same size as the toy, and stood back up.

There was a soft, confused trill from under the berth as Prowl turned to leave, and he nearly broke down right there. Instead, Prowl brought his tactical computer up to full operation until his emotions were neatly muted and walked out.

It broke Prowl’s spark a little more every time he had to leave Chase alone to tend to his work. The sparkling didn’t understand why his carrier walked out every cycle, and no matter how much he whined and cried, his creator didn’t come back.

Prowl did his best to leave the tactical office as soon as possible after every one of his duty shifts; fetching his ration from the Mess before hurrying back to his quarters to feed and comfort Chase. Though his workload was increasing, Prowl just ran himself harder to finish all his work on time. Early, even, if he could manage it. Operating his processor at such a high volume so frequently was exhausting, but Prowl didn’t see any other choice. Besides allowing him to spend more time with his creation, his dedication was also getting him noticed by Command. There was talk of him being promoted to the Head of Tactical, which would make him an Officer. A close confidant of the Prime. As an officer, he would have the standing to request permission to raise his creation directly from the Prime. He just had to prove he was capable.

Running himself so hard was also putting him at higher risk of glitching, though Prowl fortunately managed to make it back to his quarters each time before crashing and rebooting. He would awaken lying on the floor of his habsuite, Chase’s tiny hands patting at his face, and thank Primus that no one else had been around to see. No one would want an Officer who glitched and crashed regularly.

The only person who noticed how scarce Prowl was outside of work was, predictably, Jazz.

“Feel like I hardly see ya around anymore, Prowler.” Jazz commented as he encountered the Praxian in the halls.

“Apologies, Jazz.” Prowl did not pause in his brisk walk back towards his quarters. “Things have been very busy in my department as of late. I suppose you have heard about my impending promotion?”

“Yeah, head of tactical. That’s great, Prowl.” Jazz jogged a little to keep up with the Praxian’s longer stride. “Can’t help but notice you’re cuttin’ outta the office as soon as shift ends and hurryin’ back to your quarters every cycle, tho. No time ta go for a drive or some sparrin’ with ol’ Jazz?”

Both were activities that Prowl had very much enjoying doing with Jazz, a wonderful way of working out the stress of both his job and his carriage, but he couldn’t bear to leave Chase alone for any longer. How to get Jazz off his back. “I- sorry Jazz. I can’t. I’ve been working my processor very hard, and need to spend time in a low-stimulus environment to recover. Like my quarters, alone, with the lights low.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie, a small, quiet room was the best way for Prowl to recover from a crash. Jazz was the only person who never seemed to judge him for his glitch, hopefully the saboteur wouldn’t question him too much.

“Oh. Well, I get that. Lemme know if there’s anything I can do, yeah? Get some ‘charge, Prowl.”

“Thank you, Jazz.” Prowl sighed in relief when Jazz wandered away and he was finally able to slip back into his quarters.

Every cycle, the door to the room slides open and his creator steps through it to the mysterious world beyond. Carrier will return in some joors, but to a sparkling as young as Chase, it might as well be forever.

Chase had just discovered how to crawl. Normally, the magnets in his servos and knees would be used to cling to his creator, but now, Chase used them to escape his nest. Pulling himself along the floor, the sparkling managed to explore every corner of the small habsuite that made up his entire world. Still, his carrier was not there.

Then, one cycle, something new happened. As Chase crawled up to the door, it slid open with a woosh. The locking mechanism had not been set, so it opened automatically upon registering a spark signature strongly resembling that of the room’s assigned occupant. Chase peered out into the newly revealed space, the hallway seeming endless to the tiny sparkling. Somewhere out there was his carrier, that familiar spark pulsing faintly at the other end of the creator-creation bond. Crawling out into the hall, the door shut behind him and left the sparkling all alone in the halls of the Autobot base.

Jazz hummed a tune as he sauntered down the hall, heading towards the Mess to get his ration, when an unfamiliar spark signature stopped him in his tracks. It was faint and low to the ground, too short even for a minibot. One of Soundwave’s cassette spies, maybe?

Then Jazz saw just what was lurking in the hall and he stopped in his tracks. _A sparkling_. An honest-to-Primus sparkling. The little guy was huddled against the wall, tiny vents hitching as big drops of coolant rolled down fat, infant cheeks.

“Awww, hey there bitty baby.” Jazz pitched his voice to be low and soothing, carefully stepping closer. It was clear that the sparkling was in some distress, and he didn’t want to scare him more. “What’re you doin’ out here all alone? Where’s your carrier and sire, hmm?”

The sparkling, of course, did not answer, though he did seem to calm slightly. It was a little unnerving, in fact, how quiet the little guy was. A sparkling separated from both creators should be calling out for their carrier or sire, not sobbing near silently.

“Here, how ‘bout you come with Uncle Jazz and we’ll see if we can find your creators,” Jazz knelt down and carefully picked up the mechling, unsure of how the little guy would respond. Many sparklings didn’t react well to being held by mechs other than their creators, but this one was apparently determined to be contrary. As soon as Jazz stood up, the sparkling latched onto his chestplates with strong magnets and didn’t seem inclined to let go.

Placing one hand over the mechling protectively, Jazz turned and headed for the medbay. The little guy could probably do to be looked over by a medic, and Ratchet would have a better idea of how to identify the creators. As he walked, Jazz opened a comm line, ::Hey, Ratch, you busy?::

::You’d better not have more work for me.:: Came the irritated grunt from the other end of the line.

::’Fraid so, but this is of the important variety. I found a sparkling in the halls.::

There was a long pause. ::My comm suite must be malfunctioning. You found a what::

::A sparkling. Brand new, too, by the looks of him.:: Jazz took an image capture of the little guy huddled against his chest as best he could and packaged it with the message.

::Well, scrap. That’s definitely a sparkling. No sign of the creators?::

::Nope. Poor little guy was all alone.:: Jazz gently stroked his thumb down the mechling’s back and was rewarded with a tiny, high-pitched purr. ::Gonna bring him by so you can give him a look-over. Best to keep it on the down-low for now, yeah?::

::Alright, I’ll prepare a private room. See you in a few klicks.::

::Thanks, Ratch.:: Jazz closed the line and smiled down at the sparkling nuzzling his bumper. “Don’ you worry, little guy. Doc Ratch will take good care of ya.”

Prowl hurried down the corridors of the Autobot base, walking as quickly as possible back to his quarters. He had been away from Chase far longer than he would like, but a meeting with the Prime was not something he could cut short. As he had heard from others, Optimus Prime was kind and approachable, seemingly free of much of the prejudice that had defined previous holders of the title. Prowl felt confident that if he wrote up a clear, thorough proposal for being allowed to raise his sparkling, it would be approved by the Prime.

Entering his room, Prowl frowned slightly when he was not greeted by his sparkling’s happy chirping.

“Chase?” Prowl walked over to the berth and bent down to peer under it. Since discovering how to crawl, Chase usually came out to see him when he entered, but perhaps the mechling was in recharge.

Reaching into the nest, Prowl found it empty of all but the sparkling’s plush Enforcer. Clutching the toy in his hand, Prowl looked around his small habsuite. “Chase?” Maybe the sparkling had crawled out of his nest and was elsewhere in the room?

With how small the habsuite was, it took very little time for Prowl to determine that his sparkling was nowhere in the room. With a distressed cry, Prowl crumpled to his knees. They had taken him. Someone, somehow, had found out about Chase and _they had taken him_.

Prowl’s wings shook with emotion as he curled around the small plush toy still in his hands. Coolant welled from his optics and ran down his face as emotion threatened to overwhelm his processor. Heat began to build in his helm as fear and anger over the theft of his sparkling battered his tac-net, which could only spit back corrupted data in response. With a whine, Prowl’s systems shut down altogether and he crashed.

“So, this is the mystery sparkling that you found.” Ratchet commented as he let Jazz and his passenger into a private exam room and locked the door. Said sparkling was still clinging to the saboteur’s chest, making a plaintive whining sound into Jazz’s plating.

“Yep. I think the lil’ guy is hungry. Got any sparkling feed?” Though Jazz had tried, he didn’t have the proper codes to turn his feeding lines on.

“I mixed some up, but it might be hard to get one this young to take it.” Ratchet did his best to scan the sparkling, but it was difficult with how closely the mechling was plastered to Jazz’s chassis. The medic produced a small vial of sparkling-grade energon and inserted a short length of tubing with a special nib on the end. “Here, see if you can get him to latch on and start suckling.”

It took Jazz a bit of effort, but he eventually got the sparkling to accept the tube and start feeding. Ratchet took advantage of the distraction to plug a diagnostic cable into the medical port in the sparkling’s side to get a better idea of the little one’s health.

“So how’s he doin’, Doc?” Jazz bounced in place a little and crooned his engine, trying to keep the sparkling calm.

“Hmm, not as good as I’d like.” Ratchet frowned as he disconnected. “Looks like he’s about a quartex old, but he’s a bit underweight and his spark is weak. Since he isn’t showing signs of starvation, I’d say his carrier isn’t getting the supplements he should be in his fuel. Weak spark could be from being left alone; a sparkling his age should be spending as much time as possible near an adult spark.”

“Poor lil’ guy.” Jazz gently extracted the now empty fueling tube from the sparkling’s mouth. “Any idea on who his creators might be?”

“Sorry, Jazz. He’s too young to tell a precise frametype yet, and I don’t have spark scans of everyone on base to compare his to.” Ratchet ran a gentle finger down the sparkling’s back, watching as a pair of small wings fluttered. “A hint of blue coloring, and wings would indicate either a flightframe or a grounder with sensory panels. Doesn’t narrow it down a whole lot. And, a course, there’s also the fact that not a single mech on base has come to the medbay for a carrier scan or post-emergence check.”

“Who would try to keep a sparkling a secret?” Jazz couldn’t imagine it. Carrying was known to be a lengthy, exhausting endeavor, with regular medical checks being crucial to ensure health of both carrier and sparkling. And it wasn’t like there were any regulations against it in the Autobots.

“Someone who’s in for a serious talking to from their medic.” Ratchet rumbled his powerful engine threateningly, though he had to throttle back when the sparkling started to whine in distress. “And there’s another concern. His vocalizer obviously works, but he hasn’t called for his carrier once. Was he making any sound when you found him?”

“Nah, he was totally silent. Just crying. Why?”

“Sparklings should be making noise, especially when separated from both creators. I’ve seen this before, in sparklings that have been left alone so long they have stopped crying out due to lack of response.” Ratchet’s lined face was unusually solemn. “Hate to say it, but this might be a case of neglect or deliberate abandonment.”

Jazz could hardly imagine it. Who would abandon a sparkling? “Awww, poor lil’ guy. What do we do?”

“For now, he’ll have to be looked after by someone. And he certainly seems attached to you.”

Literally, at that. The sparkling hadn’t loosened his grip on Jazz’s chestplate one micrometer. “Well, I suppose I could keep him for a few quartexes. ‘Til we find his creators or somebot willin’ to raise him. I’ve got leave for a little bit.”

“See if you can unstick him for a klick. I want to activate your feeding lines before you go.”

Easier said than done. The sparkling might’ve been tiny, but his magnets were strong and he was very reluctant to be parted from Jazz. Gently, the saboteur pried each little limb from his armor and finally managed to set the sparkling down on the medical berth. The little guy blinked in confusion, sad amber optics staring up at Jazz, before he opened his mouth and let out a loud chirp. Then another, in a repeating pattern that _tugged_ on Jazz’s spark.

“So, he can make noise. That’s the call to summon his sire. Looks like you’ve been adopted.” Ratchet chuckled and reached forward to plug a cable into Jazz’s medical port. “Alright, lemme turn on your lines so you can pick him back up.”

Jazz accepted the medical file that was transferred to him and let the coding install. Almost immediately, all the internals in his chest clenched awfully and he let out a surprised hiss. “What the pit, Ratch?”

“Your frame has to cycle through emergence protocols before your lines will activate.” Ratchet disconnected with a smirk. “Be glad you only have to experience one contraction.”

“Thank Primus.” Jazz rubbed his chest, the soreness fortunately starting to fade to be replaced by the foreign sensation of new filtration coding coming online. The sparkling was still making his sire-cry, so Jazz quickly scooped him back up and cradled the little guy back to his spark. “Welp, I’m sure the kiddo could use a nap, and I could sure use a break. Gonna head back to my quarters for a bit. Thanks, Doc.”

“Not a problem. Comm if you have any trouble or need anything. I’m going to make a list of all the truants that have been avoiding the medbay and start calling them in for full physicals.” Ratchet really didn’t like the idea that someone on base had carried and given birth without the medical staff noticing.

As an advanced member of Special Operations, Jazz had little trouble getting himself and his new charge back to his quarters without being noticed. Somewhere along the way, the sparkling slipped into recharge still clinging to the saboteur’s chestplates. Jazz smiled at the feel of a tiny spark meshing with his and the gentle purr of the sparkling’s engine on his plating, and maybe fell in love just a little bit.

Though Jazz didn’t think it was a good idea for the entire base to know about the lost sparkling just yet, there was one other person that should probably be told. It was a little odd for Optimus Prime to visit the habsuite of one of his soldiers, but Jazz didn’t want to disturb the sparkling still recharging peacefully while stuck to his plating.

The Prime was, of course, utterly charmed by the little being. Despite his enormous frame, he was still incredibly gentle as he stroked a finger down the sparkling’s back. Tiny wings fluttered in response, and the Prime beamed so brightly his smile could’ve powered the entire base.

“And you say he was just left in the hall?” Optimus could hardly imagine such a thing.

“Or wandered out on his own, but yeah. Ratch thinks he might’ve been neglected. He’s workin’ on getting spark scans of all the troops to compare to. See if we can find at least one of his creators.” Jazz sincerely hoped that there was a loving carrier or sire for the sparkling, but the fact that he’d been kept secret in the first place didn’t bode well.

“If not, I’m sure we’ll be able to find a couple more than willing to raise this little sweetheart.” Optimus was certainly taken by the sparkling. He dearly wished he could do it himself, but the duties of a Prime during war left little time for anything else. “There was something else I wanted to ask you, Jazz. Prowl missed a follow up with me, and that isn’t like him. You’re his friend, could you keep an eye out for him?”

“Can do, bossbot.” Jazz saluted as Prime left, then fired off a comm ping to Prowl. Mech probably just got caught up in a datapad and didn’t notice the time passing.

A moment later, however, his ping came back undelivered. Strange. That usually only happened if a mech was unconscious or otherwise had their comm suite fully turned off. Well, Prowl had said that he needed quiet time to help his processor reset, maybe he’d turned off his comms. If any mech seriously needed a break, it was Prowl. Jazz would let him rest, if he wasn’t answering comms by the next cycle, he’d go check on the Praxian.

Recharge was surprisingly difficult to find for Jazz that night. He just kept waking himself up to check on the sparkling, who was peacefully snoozing on his chest. Jazz had never given much thought to being a creator, he lived a life too dangerous for such thing. First as a criminal, just trying to survive, and now as a spy in a vicious civil war.

The sparkling gave a sleepy chirp as his amber optics opened, staring up into Jazz’s visor as he made his “I’m hungry” peep. Jazz obligingly opened his fueling port covers, watching with a smile as the sparkling wiggled around until he could latch on and fuel. When the war ended, assuming he was still alive, Jazz thought he definitely might need to make one of his own.

After a rather fitful night’s recharge, broken up by periodically having to wake to fuel the sparkling and to corral him from crawling off the berth when he decided to go exploring, Jazz was feeling a little worn out. But, he still had things to get done. Like checking up on Prowl.

A ping to the tactician’s comm showed that it was still turned off, and a quick call to Red Alert confirmed that Prowl had not left the base, and was not visible on any of the base’s cameras. Which meant that in all likelihood, he was in his quarters.

Not wanting to have to explain his new charge, Jazz called by the medbay and asked First Aid to swing by and look after the sparkling for a bit. The little guy started calling out for his sire as soon as First Aid had him in his arms, and Jazz grimaced. Here the poor thing had been abandoned or lost by one creator, and now he thought he was losing the other. Nevermind that Jazz wasn’t his actual sire.

“I promise I’ll come back for ya, bitty.” Jazz bent down to give the sparkling a kiss to the tip of his tiny nose. “I won’ be gone long.”

The sparkling whimpered and turned his face into First Aid’s chest, but didn’t call out again when Jazz left.

Arriving at Prowl’s quarters, Jazz rang the door buzzer and waited. Then hit it again when there was no response. Turning up the gain on his already sensitive audials, Jazz listened for the sound of anyone moving inside the room, but there was nothing. Even if he was in recharge, the buzzer should’ve been obnoxious enough to wake a mech, especially a former Enforcer like Prowl.

Jazz made short work of the lock on the door and slipped into Prowl’s quarters like a ghost. He dropped his stealth mods, though, when he saw the black and white frame sprawled on the floor.

“Prowl!” Jazz dropped down next to the unconscious Praxian and started running scans. There were no obvious wounds or signs of foul play, but there were plenty of ways to take down a mech without leaving physical marks. ::Ratchet! I’m in Prowl’s quarters, he’s on the floor unconscious. Dunno what’s wrong, can ya get here quick?::

::On my way.:: Ratchet didn’t waste time on snark when someone might be in real trouble, thank Primus. Jazz dropped the connection and continued looking after Prowl.

Despite being unconscious, the Praxian’s CPU fans were audibly running hard, and his helm was burning hot. Had he crashed? Jazz knew only a little about Prowl’s processor glitch, but supposedly it made him shut down and reboot. Not lay there stuck in some kind of loop.

Something was clenched in the tactician’s hand, and when Jazz managed to pry his servo open he was surprised to find a plush toy in the shape of Prowl’s alt mode. Sabotage via sparkling toy? Unlikely, but stranger things had happened in this war.

Jazz carefully rolled Prowl onto his side, carefully not to jostle him too much, to examine his front. A trickle of glowing energon was seeping from his chestplate seams, fresh and bright. It didn’t look like line energon, the pink glow was too clear and there was a glimmer of minerals. Jazz did his best to follow the leak, trying to trace it back to its source, and suddenly things started to make a little too much sense.

The energon was sparkling-grade, and coming from Prowl’s auxillary ports. Jazz recognized it easily, he had fuelled a sparkling from his own, identical ports just that morning. But those systems only onlined after a bot had a sparkling. Jazz’s processor, though not as advanced and powerful as Prowl’s, was still quick enough to put the clues together. Prowl was leaking sparkling energon, which would indicate that he’d had a sparkling recently. He was clutching a sparkling toy in his hand. There were dried tear tracks on his faceplate. He’d been acting strangely the last quartex, always in a hurry to get back to his quarters. While Prowl was the absolute last bot Jazz would suspect of having a secret sparkling, all the evidence was there.

“Oh, Prowler. Why?” Jazz knew that the Praxian was solitary and not very social, but he never could have pictured the mech hiding something like this.

Ratchet arrived on the scene with a flash of his emergency lights, transforming and quickly forcing open the door with his medical override codes. “Jazz, how is he?”

“Still the same. I think he crashed due to stress and got caught in some kind of loop.” Jazz could only assume that it had something to do with why the mech’s sparkling was out in the halls. “When you jack into him, can you check for signs of recent emergence?”

“For recent-?” Ratchet looked at Jazz with surprise even as he plugged himself into Prowl’s medical port. “You think that _Prowl_ secretly had a sparkling?”

“That ain’t line energon leakin’ outta his chestplates.” Jazz pointed out, helping support the limp Praxian to give Ratchet easier access.

“Well, smelt me. You’re right.” Reading Prowl’s diagnostics records for the last few decacycles, Ratchet could see hallmark signs of a stressful emergence, followed by inadequate follow-up care. “What a glitch-rusted thing to do. What was Prowl thinking, popping out a sparkling without any medical care?”

“Right, we don’ know what he was thinking,” Jazz said gently. “But this is Prowl, so he must’ve had a good reason. This mech don’ do anything without calculating every probability.”

“Well, let’s ask him. Found some snarled coding in his creator protocols, most likely caused by carrying without any prenatal care and the stress of hiding all this. That, combined with his glitch, caused him to crash and get caught in a loop instead of rebooting.” Ratchet hummed as he dug through more damaged coding and did his best to straighten it out. “He had some kind of emotional surge that triggered it. I’m bringing him online now.”

“Emotional surge like comin’ home and findin’ his bitlet missing.” Jazz guessed, gently setting Prowl down and moving away. One never knew if a downed mech was going to come back up fighting. Ratchet clearly had the same idea, as he also unplugged and backed off.

Prowl’s systems whirred as he booted back up. Suddenly, his optics came back online and he sat up with a shout, “Chase!” He looked around frantically, clearly still confused and panicked. “Where’s- where is he? Where’s-“

“Whoa, Prowler. Calm down.” Jazz immediately moved in, “Your sparkling is fine, I promise. I’ve been lookin’ after him for ya. He’s in my quarters right now with First Aid.”

“He’s-“ Prowl did, at least, calm down, though he certainly didn’t seem happy. Instead, he just looked down at the floor with his sensor wings drooped low, “I see. It is. For the best then. May I, at least, be permitted to see him one last time?”

Jazz frowned, “Prowl, of course you can see him. Whenever you want. Did you think we would take your sparkling from you?”

“Mecha with severe processor glitches are not allowed to create.” Prowl recited emotionlessly. “I know that, but I had hoped-“ He trailed off.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” Ratchet scoffed. “Your processor glitch isn’t ‘severe,’ and there’s no reason it would keep you from being a creator.”

“Was that the law in Praxus?” Jazz guessed. “That’s why you left, ain’t it? To be someplace you could raise your lil’ bit.”

“Yes, I left Praxus when I learned I was carrying. I had originally intended to anonymously surrender him but. I couldn’t. My hope was, if I became an Officer under the Prime, I could appeal directly to him for an exception.” Slowly, Prowl seemed to be recovering from his crash. “If you didn’t take Chase, why was he gone?”

“I found the lil’ guy crawling in the hallway.” Jazz explained. “Maybe he escaped. Sparklin’s can be pretty slippery. My carrier said me n’ my twin were always gettin’ into crazy places when we was young.”

“Come on, we can have this conversation in the medbay.” Ratchet got to his pedes and tugged Prowl upright. “I’ll have First Aid meet us there with Chase. No reason to keep him away from his carrier any longer.”

Prowl silently followed Ratchet and Jazz to the medbay, clearly still having trouble believing he would be reunited with his creation. Fortunately, First Aid was already there and waiting with little Chase in his arms. As soon as the sparkling teeked his carrier’s field, he let out a happy squeal and unlatched from First Aid to wave his arms towards Prowl.

The Praxian glanced at Ratchet, as if to make sure he was allowed, before taking his creation from First Aid. Chase chirped happily and clung to his carrier’s chestplate, bringing a genuine smile to Prowl’s face. He bent his head to kiss his sparkling on the helm, coolant pooling at the corners of his optics. Ratchet managed to refrain from making a comment as he guided the Praxian to sit on a medical berth.

“You can keep holding Chase, but I’m giving you a full exam. Right now.” Ratchet said sternly. “There’s all kinds of complications that can crop up post-emergence, and I’m betting you haven’t had even a check up since you left Praxus.”

“You would be correct.” Prowl confirmed, reclining back in the medical berth with a hand protectively over his sparkling. He would do whatever the medic wanted, as long as he got to keep holding Chase.

“Well, I suppose I should skedaddle. Lemme know if you ever need a sparklin’-sitter, alright Prowl?” Jazz turned to leave, but he had barely made it to the door when a sharp cry stopped him in his tracks.

Prowl looked down at the sparkling in his arms in surprise as Chase reached a little hand out for Jazz and cried out for a sire again.

“He certainly seems to have claimed Jazz as his sire.” Ratchet noted in amusement. “At least, I’m assuming you’re not the actual spark-sire.” He favored Jazz with a suspicious glare.

“Oh, no no no.” Jazz held up his hands even as he stepped back into the room so that Chase would stop calling. “Me and Prowler ain’t like that, I swear.”

“Jazz is correct, we have never been physically intimate.” Prowl confirmed. “Chase’s sire was another Enforcer. I assume he was deactivated when Praxus fell.”

“Oh, Prowler, I’m sorry.” Jazz had never given a thought to whether Prowl had been in a relationship before joining the Autobots.

“Don’t be. Our relationship was purely physical, there was no emotional attachment.” Prowl’s vocal inflection did not change, though that didn’t prove anything. “Perhaps, it is that Jazz spent more time around me while I was carrying than Chase’s actual spark sire.”

Hell, Jazz was the only mech who spent any time in close physical proximity with Prowl. Suddenly, Jazz had a revelation, “Wait. You’ve been carrying legit the entire time I’ve known ya?”

Prowl nodded, petting Chase’s tiny helm as the sparkling settled down.

“Even when we was racin’, and sparrin’? Primus.” Jazz shuddered to remember some of the rather fierce sparring sessions they had, now that he knew the Praxian had been carrying. “I got some seriously good hits in. I wish you could’a said somethin’, mech.”

“My spark chamber is well protected, please do not feel guilty. No damage was done to myself or Chase.” Prowl attempted to reassure him.

“I will be the judge of that.” Ratchet stated sternly. “And if you aren’t Prowl’s conjunx or Chase’s spark-sire, then you shouldn’t be in here, Jazz. Shoo.”

“It’s alright, Ratchet. He may stay if he wishes. I don’t want to distress Chase any further.” Prowl was not particularly shy. Jazz already knew the details of his glitch, and now about his sparkling. He had nothing more left to hide.

Ratchet shrugged. Well, if patient didn’t care.

Prowl laid back and closed his optics, one thumb stroking over Chase’s head soothingly as Ratchet started looking him over. He had been examined by many a medic in his life and, despite his abrasive berthside manner, Ratchet was actually one of the most gentle.

“Ugh, if I ever get my servos on some of the medics who have dug around in you before-“ Ratchet grumbled, having a look at the history of edits and coding changes to Prowl’s processor and tactical unit.

“Enforcer Command was very interested in trying to repair my glitch.” Prowl explained, unable to help flinching as Ratchet tentatively poked at the corrupted coding that caused said glitch. “Many different solutions were tried.”

“Fools,” Ratchet shook his head, “There’s no cure for processor glitches. Just techniques for managing and coping with them. I’ll see about getting you some appointments with Rung after I finish untangling this mess those hack medics made in your processor.”

Jazz sat back and quietly watched as Ratchet gave Prowl a very thorough medical exam, keeping himself occupied by making funny faces at Chase. The sparkling was content to lay on his creator’s chest and giggle at Jazz’s antics, though he was a little less happy to be relocated so that Ratchet could look at Prowl’s spark and gestation systems. Jazz accepted the squirming sparkling and tickled his sideseams, generating a peal of high-pitched laughter that brought a smile to even Ratchet’s face. Even with the medic digging around in his chest cavity, Prowl’s attention was solely focused on Chase. It was a little intimidating, having those sharp blue optics staring at him so intently. Jazz turned Chase around to face his carrier and picked up one of the chubby little servos to make the sparkling wave. A smile softened Prowl’s intense expression, and it struck Jazz that this was probably the first time he’d actually seen the Praxian smile. It was a good look for him.

“Well, I’m not happy with you, but there isn’t anything that worries me too much.” Ratchet grumbled as he closed Prowl back up. Jazz immediately passed Chase back over, and the sparkling quickly magnetized himself back to his carrier’s chestplate. “You’re pretty badly underweight, I’m betting you weren’t getting adequate nutrition while you were carrying. Still aren’t. Your body is drawing everything Chase needs out of your protoform. I’m putting you on a prescription of fuel additives and doubling your ration, effective immediately.”

Prowl inclined his helm in acceptance. “I will do whatever you ask of me, Ratchet. As long as Chase is alright.”

“Chase is also underweight, but both you and he will recover quickly with the additives I’m putting you on.” Ratchet reassured, using his medic codes to change Prowl’s ration allotment. “Of slightly more concern are your sparks. Your spark is rather weak, which is what happens when you carry with no medical care and no sire to help contribute. And any recovery you make is quickly drawn off by Chase, who’s spark needs the proximity of an adult’s to develop properly.”

“And what can be done about that?” Prowl was serious when he had said he’d do anything for his sparkling.

“Your spark will recover on its own with time and rest. Adult sparks are pretty resilient. For a sparkling, though? The best I can recommend is that he spend time with a healthy adult spark, whenever he isn’t mag’d to you. And he should spend as much time clinging to you as possible.”

“My work-,“ Prowl faltered. While it wouldn’t be hard to keep Chase with him in his office, assuming the Prime approved, there were other times when it absolutely wouldn’t be appropriate to have his sparkling with him.

“Myself or any of my medics would be happy to watch him and offer our spark energy.” Ratchet said gently, knowing that Prowl had no friends and few mechs that he trusted.

“Count me in on that too, Prowler.” Jazz offered immediately. “He’s an adorable lil’ bit, I’d be happy ta watch him any time ya need.”

“I can’t ask that of you, Jazz. You have missions, and ops work-“

Jazz waved a hand in easy dismissal, “After that last mission I went on and near got slagged? I’m owed some on-base, reintegration time anyway. Can’t think of any better way to spend it.”

Unsure of what to do in the face of so much kindness, Prowl simply bowed his head and gently stroked Chase’s back. After so many quartexes of worry and stress, he felt nothing but exhausted. The lingering pain from his crash didn’t help, making him want little more than to recharge for a decacycle.

Ratchet turned away and drew a cube from his dispenser before handing it to Prowl. “Here, fuel up, then you can head back to your hab to recharge. And I expect you to rest. I’m placing you on medical leave for the next two decacycles, to give you time to bond with your sparkling. And partial leave for at least a quartex after that, until I’m satisfied with both yours and Chase’s health.”

Prowl knew better than to argue, quietly accepting the energon that glittered with additives and drinking it down. The taste was actually decent, fortunate since he’d be fueling on this mix for the forseeable future.

“Here, Prowl. Lemme walk ya back to yer hab.” Jazz offered, assisting Prowl up and off the medical slab.

“That would be appreciated.” Prowl accepted the help up, and kept silent when one of Jazz’s servos drifted down to rest in the small of his back, just below his wings. The touch was actually rather nice. Since Ratchet had ironed out the errors in his carrier coding, it had surged back to the forefront. Urging him to accept comfort and help as it was offered. Especially from Jazz, who had already proven himself not just a close friend, but also an acceptable caretaker for his sparkling. His carrier coding approved of Jazz very much, and if Prowl was honest with himself, so did the rest of his processor.

Chase let out a sleepy, satisfied beep every so often, clearly pleased to cling to his carrier’s chest and rest his helm over Prowl’s spark. His amber optics were dimly lit, brightening every few kliks as the sparkling looked around until he spotted Jazz. Thus satisfied, Chase returned to nuzzling Prowl’s armor and purring happily. The sparkling’s field radiated nothing but contentment, the stress of the earlier cycle washed away by the comfort of his carrier’s spark. Now that Prowl was aware of it, he could feel Chase drawing energy from him. Though it certainly doesn’t help his exhaustion, he wouldn’t dream of denying his creation anything.

“He’s a real cute kid.” Jazz commented, the sight of the sleepy sparkling bringing a huge smile to his face.

“He is.” Prowl agreed, gently stroking the back of Chase’s helm. “He will grow into a handsome adult frame. I can only hope my glitch does not pass on.”

“Even if it does, Chase has got a lovin’ carrier, and ain’t nobody gonna harass him about it. I won’t let ‘em, and you know Ratchet won’ either. Ain’ gonna let no medics mess with him like they did you.” Jazz hated to think of Prowl being passed from medic to medic, having his coding hacked apart and re-made in the name of “fixing” him.

“Thank you, Jazz.” Prowl bowed his helm, deciding to blame the burning sensation in his optics on the carrier protocols still running high priority. He wished, in the back of his CPU, that Jazz really was Chase’s sire. The Polyhexian certainly made a better one than Chase’s actual coding contributor would have.

Returning to his quarters, Prowl finally relaxed a little as he re-entered his safe space. He would have to get used to being outside his habsuite with Chase eventually, but not today.

“Try ta get some ‘charge, Prowler.” Jazz walked with the Praxian back to his berth, finally taking his hand off Prowl’s back.

Even as tired as he was, Prowl managed not to pout as Jazz’s warm presence left his side. Chase had no such compunctions, letting out an unhappy whine as the saboteur headed for the door.

“Sorry, lil’ guy. I’ll see ya again, soon. I promise.”

Jazz opened the door, and Prowl found himself speaking up before he could quite stop himself. “You can stay. If you want, I mean. If it isn’t an inconvenience. Just to keep Chase from getting stressed.”

“Ain’t no inconvenience to spend time with you.” Jazz let the door shut and agreeably joined Prowl and his sparkling on the berth.

Prowl didn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed as he lay back and arranged Chase a little more comfortably over his spark. The sparkling had settled back down, dropping almost instantly to recharge once he had two familiar fields overlapping with his. Prowl found himself quickly following his creation’s lead, frame relaxing back into the berth as Jazz settled next to him. It was the best recharge he could recall ever having. 


End file.
